Middle Of Nowhere
by prosfan
Summary: Basically a H/C fic, exploring what Lewis would do if He found James seriously hurt. Hathaway's POV now up. Rated T for sweariness. 8Jul: Aftermath Chapter added. Properly complete now :
1. Middle Of Nowhere

_Shit._

_Shit shit shit shit shit, _Lewis breathed as he saw the unconscious form of his sergeant lying in the grass. He sprinted over, not caring that he was ruining his trousers, skidding to a stop by Hathaway's side. He reached out and felt for a pulse. _Damn!_ Too weak and too fast. Pulling out his mobile he silently thanked fate that he had signal. He had no illusions that the small, solitary bar on his mobiles screen was James' lifeline. Taking off his jacket he dialled 999 and went through the motions of summoning an ambulance. He wasn't hopeful, they truly were in the middle of nowhere. The only reason he had known where to come was after the local constabulary had responded to the APB on Hathaway's car. The APB that Lewis himself had put out after James hadn't answered his phone when he had called, or indeed been at his flat. He had learned to trust his instincts over the years and he knew his Sarge well enough to know that if he called him on his day off, James would still answer. So when he didn't, somewhat understandably, Lewis was concerned. His apprehension had grown when he'd been told that Hathaway's car had been found in the middle of nowhere and he'd made all haste to get there.

And what had he found? His sergeant lying battered and unconscious in a field. He suddenly remembered that he was still clutching his jacket and why he had shrugged it off. Shivering, _how long could James last? Its not exactly warm._, he folded the jacket and gently eased it under Hathaway's head. The make shift pillow was essentially useless but he felt the need to do something for the young man. Turning to look again at James, he saw the full extent of his injuries. A deep gash on the side of the man's head accounted for his state of unconsciousness. There was evident bruising on the normally handsome face. Hathaway's shirt was ripped and cuts underneath showed slices that could only have been inflicted by a largish knife. He could see a considerable amount of blood on the mans trouser leg. A slash ran from the hip to about three inches below the knee. Lewis fought down a feeling of anger as he imagined someone inflicting all these injuries, realising that that cut at least must have been done while Hathaway was unconscious. He also had a slight feeling of failure hovering around him. Morse had never failed him. Even that time when the crazy woman had made him dig his own grave, Morse had come to rescue him. And he, Lewis, couldn't even look after his own sergeant on his day off.

A slight moan from the man lying next to him shook Robbie Lewis out of his mood. Instantly attentive, he put his arm on James' shoulder, letting him know that he was there.

"Hathaway?"

Nothing.

"James? James, can you hear me? Come on son. Fight it a little eh?" Nothing but fraught mutterings came from the young sergeant. If anything this unsettled Lewis more. For what little he knew of what had happened, he knew that when you've had a beating like this, semi-consciousness was undesirable to say the least. He realised that the ambulance was going to take its time and it was time James may not have. The lad had lost blood from the knife wounds and by Lewis' call log, must have been hurt earlier in the morning. The phones miniature screen informed him that he had made several calls to Hathaway at half past ten that morning. It also informed him it was now going on for six in the evening. By his own reckoning Lewis had only been at the scene for an hour tops. That meant that James had been on his own in the field, probably in the state Lewis found him in, for six and a half hours. It hadn't been warm and the poor lad had been steadily bleeding. As if to deliberately enhance his worry, James' eyes flickered open and a dreadful rasping cough burst from his mouth. Lewis replaced his left hand on the sergeants shoulder and tried to sit him up to ease his breathing but a sharp gasp of pain from James made him quickly and gently set the sergeant back down.

"Ok, Ok. We won't try that again" Lewis soothed as the sergeant breathed deep, tears of pain welling in his eyes. He willed himself to calm down as heard James' rasping breaths come quickly and loudly to his ears. They were getting worse, the inspector was sure of it. He panicked now, unsure what to do for his ailing colleague. He snatched up his phone and dialled the one person he could think of to help.

"Who is...Robbie? Is that you? Did-"

"Laura!" Lewis said relief evident in his voice, "I thought maybe-"

"-Lewis calm down. What's happened?"

Lewis proceeded to explain the situation. He talked Dr Hobson through what had been inflicted on Hathaway. Then he moved on the the deterioration of James' condition in the recent minutes.

"Now Lewis, I deal with dead people, I can't promise to help the living."

"Laura, you may see him professionally if I can't get help." The pathologist couldn't miss the fear in the man's voice.

"Ok, ok. Do you have any water? A blanket?"

"Er A water bottle yeah. Maybe a blanket?"

"Well go get them, cover him up, the poor lad must be frozen. And try and get him to drink. Little sips Lewis or he'll just choke on it and if that's his breathing I can hear in the background, that is not advisable."

"Thanks so much Dr Hobson, I-"

"-Lewis, you did call an ambulance didn't you?"

"Yeah, but I don't know where we are so they are going have to drive and find the car parked . Thanks again Laura."

"No worries Robbie. Just look after him. And keep me posted yeah?"

"Will do" The inspector snapped his phone shut and turned back to the muttering Hathaway beside him. He didn't want to leave his friends side but he was worried about the consequences if he didn't.

"James? Can you hear me?" A feeble nod.

"I have to go to the car. I'll be five minutes." A flash of panic from the sergeants eyes and Lewis grasped his hand. "Nothing will happen to you James. You need warmth. I have a blanket in the car." He waited until he got another nod and then got up and ran to his car. Picking up the blanket off the back seat, he grabbed the water bottle and ran back to Hathaway. After reassuring him that he was back he set about trying to make the younger man more comfortable. Hoping that the blanket would provide vital warmth, he unscrewed the bottle cap and gently pushed the bottle to Hathaway's mouth. It became obvious to Lewis that the lad wanted to drink but couldn't muster the energy to move. As carefully as he could he moved Hathaway's head onto his lap and gently dripped water into James' mouth. At first the sergeant choked on the unexpected water but he eventually took it well and drank readily. Lewis smiled sadly.

"You don' half guzzle it James. Slow down its all you've got." Silence for a few moments, then;

"Could...do...beer sir."

"I know James. I promise your next ones on me eh?"

There was no answer. James Hathaway was unconscious again. Lewis' mobile rang and the sudden noise startled him. Picking up the phone, he noted how dark it was. He should have guessed it was December after all and half 8.

"Hello? Who is this?"

"Jean, Robbie, what's going on Laura called?"

"I found Hathaway ma'am, he's in a bad way."

"I gathered from Dr Hobson. We've received information from the ambulance."

"Oh?" Lewis said apprehensively, "and it is?"

"There's a gunman somewhere around them. Every time they inch forwards, he shoots at the side of the ambulance. They've stopped trying, every shot is closer to the cabin."

"Shit. He needs to get to hospital Jean, its bad."

Where's your car?"

"Not far, I can see it from here...but"

"But what Inspector"

"He won't be able to get there. He couldn't even sit up", Lewis shuddered at the memory of James' gasp of pain.

"So pick him up Lewis, its the only chance he's got." Lewis paused.

"Ma'am. Tell the ambulance drivers to back off. Go to the roundabout about a mile back. I'll get us to there and then they can get Hathaway to hospital."

"Ok Inspector, we'll tell them now. Oh and Robbie,"

"Aye ma'am?"

"Good luck". Lewis manages a sarcastic smile as she disconnects the call. He knows he's gonna need it.

He turns his attention back to Hathaway and gently shakes him awake. He is sickened by the amount of pain he is going to have to bring to his sergeant, wishes there was some other way. But he knows that if he doesn't, things look bad for James.

"Hathaway? Look, James, the ambulance isn't coming, er, we're gonna have to get to my car."

"...how...far?" The look in his eyes is one of resignation as he stares up into he eyes of superior.

"100 metres? 150? Not all that bad" Lewis encourages, trying to believe this will be alright. Hathaway swallowed and closed his eyes, before nodding.

"Help...m...me...up"

"No. No James I'll pick you up."

"Sir...please...need to ...do this..." Lewis looked at his sergeant, saw the determination mixed with the pleading and against his better judgement, he nodded.

"Come on then laddie" He gently helped the young man into a sitting position. The only indication of pain was a sharp hiss. Slowly but surely, James stood up. Eyes screwed shut, he gripped the inspectors arm and Lewis slipped his arm round the sergeants waist, taking James' weight on his own body. Another hiss of pain followed by a whimper. Lewis stood still, unwilling to push his sergeant too hard. James saw the look of concern and took a deep breath.

"...Go."

They eventually got to the car and got in. Lewis couldn't help but notice that James was looking extremely pale. And bloody. He pulled of and drove away, taking care not to hit any thing to make the car jolt.

The ambulance men didn't see him approach for Lewis had driven slowly and kept his headlights off, after all there was a gunman out there. He knocked on the door of the cabin and the startled paramedic jumped.

"Inspector Lewis?"

"Yes. My sergeant is in the car." The paramedics jumped out and quickly set about assessing James' injuries. They worked in grave silence, only speaking to relay information and Lewis found immense respect for them.

"...him sir." Lewis is jolted from his thoughts.

"What?"

"It'd help if you talk to him sir. Reassurance like."

"Can he hear me?" The paramedic shrugs.

"Even if he can't, it'll help you." He gives Lewis a sad smile. He knows how hard this is hitting the older man. He's seen it before. Father and child, boyfriend and girlfriend, brother and sister. It can be harder for the safe ones. The young man in the bed is unconscious, he's oblivious to what's going on, he's not feeling anything. His superior is feeling it all to keenly. Anger, concern, even guilt. Yes, talking will do the old'un more good than he realises. Lewis nods, sighing he sits side on to where James is strapped to a stretcher. He swallows, considering what to say, how to begin.

"Hathaway. Its ok. Whatever you're experiencing, its ok." The heart monitor bleeps faster. The paramedics exchange worried looks. Lewis doesn't miss it.

"James! Don't you dare give up. You've made it this far. And I don't want to break in another sergeant. No one else'd put up with me. Just stay with it-" A paramedic taps him on the shoulder, they are at the hospital. The beeping has worried the paramedics and they wheel the stretcher into A&E faster than they might do for a simple case of drunkenness. He wishes he'd said something more meaningful, something more that a feeble joke. But Lewis can only look on while his friend is whisked away amid a flood of medical jargon that he doesn't understand.

Sat outside the operating theatre, Lewis is lost in his thoughts. He's been told to try and relax by a well meaning nurse and he does regret snapping at her. But he can't relax. His sergeant, his charge, is lying on an operating table, being stitched together again. He's only too aware that there was no speech, no anything from James since the journey to the car. At least in the field there had been periods where Hathaway had been awake. So lost in his thoughts is he that it takes longer than usual to realise that his mobile is, once again, ringing.

"Ma'am?"

"Lewis. What's happened? How is Hathaway?"

"He's in theatre. Been there for about 45 minutes. I have no more information." Lewis pauses, unsure what to say. "He was so still Ma'am. And pale, colour of chalk." Jean Innocent knows that Lewis is worried, the initial adrenaline is wearing off and he's now dealing with chronic worry. She also knows that he won't stop worrying until his sergeant wakes up and smiles.

"He'll be ok Robbie. He's tough that one."

"Aye. I hope so Ma'am" She decides that she's been as compassionate as she can. Anyway she has information that will ease Lewis' mind.

"They found him you know."

"Who?"

"The bloke that assaulted him." Lewis clenches his fist.

"Good. Bring him in. I have a few choice words to say to him."

"Wouldn't do you any good. He's dead."

"Eh?"

"Laura came out to him, some late night walker found him. She says he used a pistol to shoot himself. The bullet is expected to match the ones fired at the ambulance. He had a large kitchen knife with him. The blood on that is expected to match James'."

"Well it doesn't matter now. The bastards dead. If James...Ah there's no justice."

"Robbie. We'll get an ID on him. Closure you know. James will appreciate it."

"Aye Ma'am." Lewis spots the doctor walking down the corridor towards him. "Oh Ma'am the doctor is here, can you call Laura and tell her we made it to hospital? Say I dunno about James yet. She wanted to know."

"Ok Lewis. Let me know when you know more."

Jamming his phone in his pocket, Lewis stands to greet the doctor.

"How is he?"

"Well he has been seriously hurt. The blow to his head is what's worrying us most. We'll have to see how he is when he wakes up. Also he has been too cold for too long. We aren't sure what effect that will have on his breathing."

"I see. Can I go in?" The doctor hears the pleading in the gruff voices and nods. If he didn't know better, he'd swear that this was a father and son. Well loving uncle and nephew anyway.

Lewis enters the room that Hathaway is in. He swallows as he sees the monitor, rhythmically beeping. Sitting on a hard plastic chair, he looks once again over his friends tall frame. The light in the room is dimmed, but the harsh lights in the corridor, serve to accentuate the damage. The blood was deep crimson in the tube. It snaked from the IV bag to the bed, where it crossed over some of the sergeants skin. The skin that was too pale, desperately in need of the red fluid. The room was well heated and the blanket was pulled up to Hathaway's waist. His shirt, ripped beyond repair, had been disposed of by the doctors and a mass of bandages criss-crossed the man's torso. Blood shows through and Lewis can't help but notice it. He sees the gash on the man's head, now stitched and whistles softly. Its deep and long, although it almost gets lost among the bruises adorning the handsome features. Lewis leans back on the chair, _it really is warm in here_, and falls asleep at his sergeants side.

He is awakened sometime later by frantic muttering. At first, still half asleep, he had thought it was a child having a nightmare. Then something hit his foot and he woke up fully with a jolt, his foot slipping to the floor. Realising where he was, he now knew where the sounds were coming from.

"James? James calm down. It's ok. You're safe. You're in hospital." Lewis again, put his one hand on his sergeants shoulder, the other grasping the younger man's own and tried to calm him down.

"James. Its Lewis. You're ok. Right. You're safe." Hathaway finally seemed to take it in, breathing slower and opening his eyes, to look up at his boss.

"Wha...'pend sir?" Lewis sighed.

"We were hoping you could tell us. You disappeared from the area, uniform found your car. And then I found you." Hathaway swallowed, closing his eyes.

"...Hurts...sir...". Lewis is startled by this. He'd never heard James admit pain like that before. Not without a joke or sarcastic comment anyway. The lad sounds like a confused child and Lewis isn't sure how to deal with it.

"I know son, but it'll get better." James nods. He thinks back over the fragments of memory that he has.

"...Thank...you...sir."

"Don't mention it."

A week later and his Sergeant is coming out of hospital. Still hurting, walking with a cane while that slash on his leg heals properly, but out of hospital nonetheless. Lewis promised him he'd come and pick him up and he's there, in the car, as Hathaway limps out of the main hospital entrance. He can still see the gash on his forehead. He is almost glad James can't remember the actual assault. It would be pretty traumatic he imagined. Although he can't shake the feeling that his sergeant remembers more than he is letting on. He'll have to sort that out, not yet though. The boy needs to relax for a while. Lewis gets out to meet him and open the passenger door. Hathaway folds himself into the passenger seat with a wince and a hiss. Lewis looks over, concern on his face, but the worry melts away when James cracks a wide grin at him. Its the first time he's seen him smile since he found him in that field.

"Sir, I'm a big boy now y'know. Can look after myself."

"Don't be so facetious sergeant" Lewis says smiling. If James is being cocky then he's definitely better. Its goes quiet in the car for the rest of the journey until they pull up at James' house.

"Well here y'are sonny. Home sweet home eh? Now get yourself of to bed. Beats kippin' in a field." Hathaway doesn't answer immediately but just stares at his house. After a time;

"Thank you sir." he says, as he starts to open the car door.

"Away man, couldn't have left you to limp home on your own could I?"

"...That's not what I was thanking you for sir. But its much appreciated."

"Get off with ya. Get some decent grub into your belly." James smiles at the unsaid acceptance of his gratitude.

"Fancy coming in for a beer sir?" he asks.

"Aye why not?" From the back seat he pulls out a six pack of beer can's and hefts them out the car. Much to James' obvious delight.

"When do your pills kick in?"

"Er, not until I actually take them sir."

"How is the pain sergeant?"  
>"It could be beaten by a few of them I'm sure. Any way. They are more take as you find pills. There's no schedule" James says, indicating the liquid gold in Lewis' hands.<p>

"Alright Sergeant. One couldn't hurt ya." The men grin at each other and Lewis helps his right hand man into the house.


	2. In a Place Unknown

_Hurts, _Is all James Hathaway can think. He doesn't know where he is. He doesn't know what happened. The only thing he knows is that he hurts. And it feels like everywhere hurts.

Wait. He can hear something, some one is coming towards him fast. He panics, whatever happened before, he doesn't want more of it. He can't take more of it. The panic grows as someone touches his neck and he passes out again. He doesn't realise his superior officer is with him, doesn't feel the makeshift pillow being slid under his head.

He surfaces again. Despite trying to pretend to this person that he's dead, a quiet moan escapes his lips. When the hand touches his shoulder, he freaks out, although he doesn't move. It'll hurt too much.

"Hathaway?" James knows that voice. He's heard it before. He doesn't know who it is. Could be a colleague, could be his attacker. He can't muster up any strength to talk. His throat is on fire.

"James? James, can you hear me? Come on son. Fight it a little eh?"

He tries to talk back, tries to tell this person to piss off and leave him to die, that hand on his shoulder hurts. He can hear the noises he's making. Its not what he meant. He doesn't make any sense. He sounds like a mad man to his own ears.

_Oh God, this hurts._

He tries to retreat back to the darkness, he doesn't want to feel like this any more. He wants the pain to go away and he's almost prepared to give up and die for the peace. But suddenly his chest is on fire, he's terrified and he realises he desperately needs to see the world before he dies. He forces his eyes open, it takes a few tries and it feels like his chest is trying to burst through his ribcage. He detachedly hopes that the rasping sound isn't his breathing. He may not be a medical man but he knows that's bad. The shoulder hand is back. He's being moved. _NO! Stop! Please, that fucking hurts. Some twat is trying to sit him up._

He's put back down and through tears of pain he sees a man sat next to him.

"Ok. Ok We won't try that again"

The voice is comforting, he knows it and more importantly, he knows its isn't a threat. He has no idea who it is, but its not a threat.

His chest hurts more and more, his own breath is shredding his throat. He's vaguely aware that if he goes to sleep he may never wake up, but at the moment, all he wants to do is leave the pain behind.

When he comes around again he only has one thought.

_Lewis!_

He knows who the voice belongs to now and he knows he can trust it. He wonders what his inspector is doing out here, hopes that he isn't hurt as well. Come to think of it, the man is still talking, James is unsure if he should answer. In all fairness, he's unsure that he can.

"Will do" Hathaway is just confused, he knows he wasn't talking to him, but he's equally sure there was no one out here with them. He is also dismayed to find the pain hasn't abated one bit. It hurts to move, breathe, talk and he doesn't like it at all.

"James? Can you hear me?" _Yes! I can hear you sir! I want to say thank you. Whats that sir?_

"I have to go to the car. I'll be five minutes."

_No! Don't leave me here. You can't go. Not now I've finally worked out who you are...I'm scared Sir. And I know even if I could, I wouldn't tell you._

"Nothing will happen to you James. You need warmth. I have a blanket in the car." James calms a little. He can see the sense in this. It is bloody cold. He thinks his inspector is holding his hand. This is absurd. Lewis is a good governor but this level of concern? He can hear the fear in Lewis' voice and he realise the older man is scared. He's lost Morse and his wife. He doesn't want to lose James. Despite the situation James is touched. He nods as well as he can, its clear Lewis won't leave him until he's sure James is ok. James is unbelievably grateful.

He hears heavy foot falls come towards him again. Too tired to worry about them, he lays there, semi-conscious as his inspector puts something heavy and warm over him. He feels something by his mouth, the screws telling him its a water bottle. He realises hoe thirsty he is and tries to get at it. He doesn't have the energy to move his head. Two hands gently grab his head and he is suddenly aware that he's resting on something that isn't grass. As the first drops of water touch his mouth, he reacts violently, his throat doesn't know how to deal with this new sense. He hasn't had a drink for a while. _Right. Mouth open, fill up, mouth closed, swallow._ Once he has the hang of it he's drinking the precious water like there's no tomorrow.

"You don't half guzzle it James. Slow down its all you've got." This stops Hathaway. _All you've got. Not we. He is suddenly aware that Lewis probably hasn't had a drink either and he's willing to give the entire bottle to his sergeant._ He stops drinking. A thought occurs to him. There's something else he hasn't had for quite a number of hours. Neither has Lewis, he guesses.

"Could...do...beer sir." Its supposed to be a weak excuse at a joke, but he isn't conscious long enough to see if Lewis laughed.

Someone is shaking him. Lewis is shaking him. _Its my day off. I'm not working on anything, _he wants to say, but then the pain returns and he remembers where he is.

"Hathaway? Look, James, the ambulance isn't coming, er, we're gonna have to get to my car." He opens his eyes. He desperately doesn't want to move but know its the right thing to do. He can see the apologetic look in his superiors eyes. One minor detail though;

"...how...far?"

"100 metres? 150? Not all that bad" James swallows a feeling of nausea. 150 metres? He can do that without breaking a sweat. When he's healthy. He nods, having come to a decision.

"Help...m...me...up"

"No. No James I'll pick you up." He can hear the concern and fear in Lewis' voice. But he doesn't care. He knows, he knows if he doesn't get up now, he never will. He's scared and he needs to know he can still move, walk, do what he wants. He doesn't know how to explain this to his superior though. He just hopes he can put enough determination into his voice to make his friend listen.

"Sir...please...need to ...do this..." He can see Lewis thinking it over. Almost see the decisions in his bosses head. Then the nod. If it didn't hurt so much, he'd smile.

"Come on then laddie" Sitting up didn't hurt quite so much this time. It had hurt, but only a hiss escaped. With Lewis' help, a lot of it, he stood up. He closed his eyes, the world was pitching about too much to keep them open, and hung on to his inspectors arm for dear life. His chest was burning, his leg felt like some one had tried to peel the flesh from the bone and his head was pounding so hard he thought it would explode. He felt an arm round his waist and felt some of the weight taken off his leg. He couldn't keep the hiss at bay. It was the whimper that stopped them though. Lewis stopped then, looked at him and stopped. Opening his eyes he looked at the inspector, he saw the outright concern on his face and the look of doubt at his decision. Realising what it would do to his inspector if this killed him, which he felt like it might, he gazed back.

"...Go." he said

He doesn't remember the rest of the walk. Only that it was full of pain. He passes out as soon as he is in the seat. He welcomes the darkness, and he doesn't want to come out of it again.

He half awakens. _Pain._ He isn't in the field, or the car, although he is moving. Someone's talking to him and he likes the voice.

"...Whatever you're experiencing, its ok."

Suddenly the pain builds into a crescendo, his chest feels like lava. He thinks he's breathing, can't think why its hurts. He wants it to stop. A friendly voice gets through to him and he is shocked by the panic.

"James! Don't you dare give up. You've made it this far. And I don't want to break in another sergeant. No one else'd put up with me. Just stay with it-"

It confuses him. He isn't giving up. He just isn't winning. He wonders where the voice has gone. Then, again, unconsciousness claims him.

Images jump at him. If it'd happened more often, he'd realise he was waking. But James Hathaway has not been beaten up this often. Playground stuff sure, but not the to-within-an-inch-of-his-life beating that he had recently experienced. Of course, he isn't thinking this now, he's still trying to deal with the images. A knife, glinting in the morning light. Red lines appearing on his skin, like small, red, rivers of lava erupting through his body. The butt of a rifle, as it moved through the air, on a crash course with his skull. And last but by no means least; the maniacal grin of a man who was just as happy to injure his captor unconscious as alert. He needs to get away from them, but he knows they are in his head. The man is back and he tries to sink into his pillow. His eyes are screwed shut and the overwhelming fear that he will still be there if he opens them keeps them that way. That knife comes towards his face, it seems to be huge, and he tries to move out of the way. His hand hits something heavy and the panic doubles.

"James? James calm down. It's ok. You're safe. You're in hospital." He hears the voice, but he can't make out the message. A hand on his shoulder and he almost delivers a left hook to his tormentor. But it hurts too much. A hand grasps his own and James finally starts to think a bit more calmly. People trying to kill you do not grasp your hand like that.

"James. Its Lewis. You're ok. Right. You're safe." Again he remembers the owner of that voice. Lewis. Inspector Robert Lewis. Robbie. His governor. He feels his breathing slow of its own accord, finally feels the calm moving through his body. Or it could be the painkillers, but he'd rather it was the calm. He cracks his eyes open, the lids heavy. He knows that Lewis won't let any madman get him. Once he feels his throat can take it;

"Wha...'pend sir?" Well almost take it anyway. That hurts more than it should.

"We were hoping you could tell us. You disappeared from the area, uniform found your car. And then I found you." His eyes slide closed again. He tries, desperately tries, to open them and keep talking to his superior. If anything he's scared of having to wake up again. He swallows and his throat starts hurting again. He feels it all keenly now. His ribs hurt. His face hurts, specially the spot above his right eye. His leg feels like its as open as the pages of a book. This is proper pain, like he hasn't felt for a long time, if ever. The drugs they are pumping him with don't seem to be working. He notices that Lewis is looking at him expectantly. He knows he can't explain what happened. Apart from a few fevered images he doesn't really know himself. He can't think of anything else to say apart from the one thing he associates with the whole event.

"...Hurts...sir...". He sees the worry in the older man's face and regrets saying it. He didn't mean it to worry the man.

"I know son, but it'll get better." He nods. He knows its true even if he can't quite believe it. Sudden, hazy memories rush to him. A pat on the shoulder when he had first come round. A warm and heavy blanket wrapped around him when the shivering worsened. Water finding its way to his mouth when he couldn't move. His throat is killing him but he has to say this.

"...Thank...you...sir."

"Don't mention it." He can see that the inspector isn't sure whether he is lucid or even knows what he's saying. He makes up his mind to readdress this when he wasn't hurting so much. And when he wasn't so damn sleepy.

James got off the bed for the last time. Grabbing the cane he was told he was going to need for a little while, he made his way to the hospital entrance. Rubbing his eyes tiredly, he sighed. He hopes that when he gets to sleep in his own bed, the nightmares will go away, the images will stop. He isn't overly hopeful however, they've been plaguing him all week. As he limps out the main door, he is extremely grateful to see his bosses car waiting there. He realises that he's still got his lurking feeling of dread when he sees a patch of grass, when something glints in the corner of his eye. He see with a start that he's at the car and Lewis has opened the door for him. He tries to manoeuvre himself in as painlessly as possible but he can't help a hiss escaping. He winces and is acutely aware that his boss is looking at him with a certain degree of concern. The man's had enough worry for the past week and James truly appreciates it. He grins, unfortunately, his only way of breaking the tension is to be...for want of a better word, annoying.

"Sir, I'm a big boy now y'know. Can look after myself." He can see the worry on his superiors face disappear and he feels good about it.

"Don't be so facetious sergeant"

The rest of the journey passes without incident. The dull ache in his chest that he has grown used to is starting up again and with it come unbidden memories. He hasn't said that he remembers a fair bit of what happened. The bloke is dead, there's no justice to be done and he doesn't like the idea of revisiting it for some PC in an interview room. He doesn't remember how or why he ended up driving into a field. There must have been a reason, but it escapes him. He doesn't remember why he stopped.

"Well here y'are sonny. Home sweet home eh? Now get yourself of to bed. Beats kippin' in a field."

He remembers slicing. He is pretty sure there was some kicking too. He doesn't remember putting up much resistance, he remembers a lot of shivering and pain.

He remembers a calming voice. He remembers a blanket, refreshing water. He remembers a comforting hand on his shoulder, someone keeping him calm when he thought his chest was going explode with pain, when the images tormented him. And he knows who that person was.

"Thank you sir." He feels embarrassed and starts to get out.

"Away man, couldn't have left you to limp home on your own could I?" He knows that this is Lewis' way of acknowledging his thanks. But he feels he needs to get it out there, feels the inspector needs to know.

"...That's not what I was thanking you for sir. But its much appreciated."

"Get off with ya. Get some decent grub into your belly." Now he sees that Lewis' isn't going to say anything that constitutes acknowledgement of what he did. He's too modest. He'll never know what he did for his sergeant. So he attempts to say thanks to his friend in the only way he knows how.

"Fancy coming in for a beer sir?" he asks.

"Aye why not?" James feels his face visibly light up as Lewis pulls a six pack of beer from the bowels of his car.

"When do your pills kick in?" This is Lewis' sly way of finding out if he can drink. Well dammit, he hasn't had a drink that wasn't water for a week. Also, well he isn't a brilliant patient.

"Er, not until I actually take them sir."

"How is the pain sergeant?" This is the pivotal point. If he can convince the man that he is only hurting half as much as it really does, he's going to get a beer out of it. And anyway he's going to tell the truth about the medicine, he owes Robbie that.  
>"It could be beaten by a few of them I'm sure. Any way. They are more take as you find pills. There's no schedule" He points at the beautiful cans that his inspector is clutching.<p>

"Alright Sergeant. One couldn't hurt ya.". He realises then that he is going to be ok. He may dream in the night and they may not be pleasant but it won't last forever and his wounds will heal. He grins widely at his smiling inspector and he limps up the path, aware that Lewis is nearby watching him to make sure he truly is ok. He's getting there. And he is fairly convinced that the road to recovery will start with a pint of liquid yeast and hops.


	3. Overdone

He woke up and rose from his bed, noticing with satisfaction that his ribs didn't hurt for a full 20 minutes after he moved downstairs. This boded well, and he was almost grinning as he made himself an omelette. It was going to be today.

It had been a week and a half since he had been discharged from hospital. A week and a half since Lewis had found him in that field. He still had a scar on his leg and a few lingering cuts on his face, but otherwise he looked a lot more healthy. He did have a bit of a cough still, that had developed in the wards. A mixture of germ ridden ward companions and a day spent in a cold damp field. He was grateful that it wasn't pneumonia. He was officially on sick leave for four more days but Lewis had promised to cover for him and let him come in to work after he had complained of super boredom for the umpteenth time.

Washing up his plate and leaving the pan to soak, he filled a water bottle from his tap and shoved it into a drawstring bag. Chucking a packet of Skips in there along with a strip of ibuprofen tablets, he pulled it closed and dropped it onto the sofa. Wandering back up to his bedroom, careful of his ribs, he selected the thin green hoodie out of his wardrobe and shrugged it on. Satisfied that it would provide warmth, he left the room and exited through his front door, picking up his bag as he went.

He got out the car and slung the bag over his shoulder, wincing slightly as it slammed into his still-tender ribs. He smiled as he walked through Wytham Woods. This was the first morning that he'd felt ok enough to get up and go for a walk. The last week had been tricky to say the least. In between nightmares and late night coughing fits, he'd had little sleep. But last night had been ok and he felt somewhat regenerated as he wandered through the forest.

In hindsight, he realised as his ribs started to hurt, it was probably not a good idea to come out so early. There was barely anyone about at half 7 in the morning and he realised uncomfortably that if he got into any serious trouble, there would be no one to help him out. Grimacing, he took the bag of his shoulders ans took a ibuprofen, washing it down with a gulp of water. As he put the bottle back he saw the bad of Skips. Some tiny voice in his mind whispered to him that you probably shouldn't take painkillers on an empty stomach and he ripped open the packet, smiling at childhood memories. He hadn't had a bag of Skips for years. They cost more nowadays.

10 minutes later and he was sat underneath a tree, leant back, breathing heavily. Maybe he'd been a little hasty. Maybe he wasn't as up to it as he thought. He could feel the taste in the back of his throat that either meant he was going to throw up, or pass out. In two minds about what to do, he tried to get up. The spots that danced in front of his vision, convinced him that he really should be setting about trying to get help. He pulled out his phone and seeing that he had signal, reluctantly dialled the familiar number.

* * *

><p>Lewis frowned as his mobile rang. He set down his fork and picked it up, confusion flitting across his face as he saw the number displayed on the screen<p>

_James Hathaway Calling_

James calling at 8am? He supposed that the lad probably did wake up early on days off, but when he was on sick leave? He jolted back to awareness and answered the call.

"Jim? What's up?"

.

"Where?...Jim, are you ok?"

.

"Yeah sure...No, it's no bother. Really James, its fine! On the main path yeah?"

.

No worries. You want me to get an ambulance out?"

.

"Ok, calm down, I've got it, no ambulance. Well I had no way of knowing that you weren't dying."

.

Hathaway, you're getting fainter. What's-?"

.

"Ah shit. Try and hold on kidda. I'm on the way, right? 10 minutes."

Lewis hurriedly got his shoes on and grabbed his car keys. In truth in was more like a 15 minute drive but he was going slightly faster than he should be. He was fairly sure that Hathaway wasn't in any immediate danger, he'd just overworked himself, but he didn't like the idea of James unconscious in the woods alone. Come to think of it, he wasn't even sure that James was unconscious. However, the lad did mutter something about passing out and it sounded to Lewis like he was struggling to stay awake.

He parked the car and walked quickly towards the main path where Hathaway had said he was. It surprised him that even now, there was no one about. He saw a familiar, lanky frame slumped against a tree and broke into a jog. As he leant down to his sergeant, Lewis breathed a quiet sigh of relief. The lad was awake and alert, just pale and breathing heavily.

"What have you gotten yourself into this time eh Jim?"

"Nothing sir. Just over did it. Thought I was better than I was didn't I?"

"Aye, stupid boy" Lewis countered, but there was no real annoyance in it. "Come on. Can ye get up?"

"Think so." James stood up unsteadily, closing his eyes for a few moments to stop his head spinning. A few minutes later they were both walking to the car, Hathaway sipping his water in an attempt to get rid of the vile taste still at the back of his throat. He looked over at Lewis, making mental note to buy his boss a pint after work when he went back. In light of the events of the morning, he decided it was probably best to have the 4 days sick leave he was still due.

As Robbie started the engine and slipped into gear, he sneaked a quick look at his sergeant. The boy would be fine. If anything this would teach him to listen to doctors next time. James caught him checking and he hastily averted his gaze.

"Thank you sir"

"Away man, don't mention it. Couldn't have left you out there alone could I?" Hathaway shrugged. "Still, I appreciate it sir. I owe you a pint."

"Deal" agreed Lewis. "I'm going to hold you to that." James laughed and leaned back in the chair. The car was warm and he felt safe. He could feel relaxation spreading through his body and surmised that despite everything, today was still going to be a good day.

Lewis stopped at the traffic light, wondering if it was too early to go and find a bacon sandwich. Deciding that 20 past 8 was indeed prime time for breakfast at a good café, he turned to ask Hathaway if he fancied it. A warm smile spread across his face as he saw the younger man asleep in the passenger seat, a look of contentment on the normally deadpan features. He chuckled lightly and changed direction, heading for Hathaway's home. The lad could do with proper bed and Lewis was sure he wouldn't begrudge him the odd slice of bread and rasher of bacon. He'd even make James a sandwich too if he wanted one.


End file.
